


Bad things come in threes

by Whenhopediesyoung



Series: Ships passing in the night [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Jim Gordon, Canon Compliant, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends to Enemies, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jim has never gotten over anybody, M/M, Pre-Canon, not once in his life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 00:18:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17672828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whenhopediesyoung/pseuds/Whenhopediesyoung
Summary: Eduardo's left with a stinging lip and the memories (again).





	Bad things come in threes

Eduardo is fast. Of course the adults in his life say it differently. Reckless, rash, impatient. His mom tells him to slow down, scowling over bills and half empty coffee cups. His Uncle just laughs, broad hand darting out to ruffle his hair in passing. He knows that boys need to run, after ideals and hopes and dreams. And besides, unlike his father Eduardo comes back.

He's going to be a soilder, just like his Uncle only better. Because Joel might have lost a leg, but he'll be faster then that. He'll come home with only metals and money to show for it.

\----

Bad things come in threes, his mom tells him face lit by candles. She gestures to the light bill on the table, to the money the can't afford to spend put to the side for bond. "Three?" He asks wary, unwilling to turn away from his game. Alarm spikes through him as she puts her face in her hand. _Three_. "Your dad wants to meet you."

It stays with him later. A stronger memory then the colone his Uncle used to wear, or the toys he got him whenever his taxes came in. It felt true, after all good things never came in threes.

\----

He's used to standing straight, by the time the officer shouts in his face. Used to biting his tongue until it bleeds. He's stronger then the rest of them and faster, just like always. It's in the army that he learns fast isn't always enough. It's being shouted down not by an officer but a fellow soilder that he learns.

Because Eduardo Flamingo has the makings of a great solider, but a terrible team player. Family is holiday gatherings with a beer in hand and younger cousins screaming underfoot. Not a bunch of scared teens trying to act like men. Especially not some bossy blonde with a glower like he has something to prove.

"You left Vega behind." His voice is like thunder, pale eyes searing. They demand things from Eduardo, like attention and explanations and apology. So he leans even closer into the other man's space, waiting for him to flinch back, to shift or snarl and bites back, "If he can't keep up then he shouldn't be here." Neither, says his own unflinching stare, should you.

By the time they're half way through basic, Vega's the second best solider on the team. Nobody gets cut, not even Gordon lowest of any of them from constantly doubling back. He smirks at Eduardo when he catches his glance.

\----

Gordon's knuckles left a bruise the size of Texas on his face, from a fight that seems like an eternity ago by noon. He's rigid, face wet with Davis' blood, like he's the corpse already stiffening up beside them. Eduardo feels about ready to shake out of his own skin, the sense of capture overwhelming. He can't stay still, not without feeling like he's drowning.

"Gordon. Gordon." The other man doesn't shift, eyes staring at his dirt prison. It's just a hole, they'll move as soon as enemy fire trails off, he just needs to wait it out. "Gordon." The other man jumps, freezes like he'll shoot him for it. "Davis was here because of me. It's my fault." He makes a sound, anguished, eyes scared and pleading and so fucking blue. He can't imagine ever having looked at them and seen fire. The hail of bullets stop. "Jim, we have to go." He half rises holding out a hand. He'll wait, he might wait forever for Gordon if he had to.

Jim reaches out, grip strong. "Let's go."

\----

He expects for it to pass. That moment of madness that made Gordon's hair seem more gold under the blood. That made him want to slow down for him. It doesn't. This is in part Gordon's fault, now that he's not shouting at Eduardo they can't help but get along. Gordon is just as reckless and rash and impatient when he lets his guard down. Just as willing to rush in guns blazing like some kind of hero.

He's surprising soft too. Hard on himself and their brothers, more out of fear then anything else. Unwilling to even discuss his family in passing. With almost no sense of humor... And yet. And yet Eduardo falls back into step with him more and more often. Thinks about defense rather then just offense when it's just the two of them. Takes the time to make inside jokes because Jim lights up when he's included in things. Calls him Jim and James instead of Gordon.

Eventually Jim starts reaching back. A grin, a joke that's not gallows humor, sitting next to him without encouragement. Of course Jim takes it further. Sitting so their legs are pressed together, casually referencing ex-boyfriends, rubbing 'dirt' off his dog tags. It's hard enough to ignore Jim without any encouragement, being flirted with is almost unbearable.

Eduardo loves the army. Loves it more then Gomez and Smith and Gordon. He loves the rules, the long hours, the burn in his muscles. It's like he was clay, soft and unformed and each new day stretches him further. Makes him more himself. He's learned patience, more or less, he knows how to wait for the end result. But he's oh, so eager to see. Jim, what he wants with Jim, could put that all in danger.

\----

They're laughing, clinging to each other like children, relief a tangible thing. Jim has blood running down his mouth, making his familiar grin alien. He can almost hear him already, recounting the mission at the barracks. He has a talent for talking, for soulful speeches and making one man's victory seem like everyone's. For making Eduardo feel like He plucked the stars out of the sky. He's stopped laughing, he realizes, slow and punch drunk. They're just holding each other now.

Then Gordon leans foward and _fuck_. How could he have possibly waiting this long? Waited three years? Then Jim goans, tipping toward him like the scales of victory. He thinks it again hoplessly. _I'd wait for you forever Jim Gordon_.

\----

He can smell gas and taste blood in his mouth and all he can think is that Jim's going to be pissed he didn't flank them. His vision goes blurry and he can't feel the wound in his thigh anymore.

"Damn it...do....Ed. Fl...stay...ith."

\----

He's half out of it on pain meds, hand locked over the card. _You have options, if your ambitions ever outstrip the army._ "What do you mean you're going to leave the army?" Gordon's tense, face stiff like they're back in bootcamp. "I'm thinking about it." His voice is stern, firm. His hand clenched over the card. _Options_. "Have you taken any of the steps yet?" _How long do we have._ "Hell, Jim what would you even do?" He tenses further. _Too loud_ , he knows better then to get too loud.

"Maybe I'll be a cop." The delivery's too firm. He's really been thinking about this. "Well, maybe you'll save my life again when we get out." Eduardo grins abrupt and honest. "Or maybe I'll save yours." He slouches relieved. "Keep us even." He agrees.

\----

The argument isn't a surprise exactly. Jim might be more cautious with lives on the line but his heart is open battleground. Jim is no better at hiding now then back in bootcamp. Refuses to see a reason for it. Jim is ashamed of lots of things: his brother, his mother, the dark spells that threaten to overtake him. Not who he loves though, or who he is no matter how many times the underdog he defends bites him back. The kiss however, is.

Jim kisses with a sense of desperation. As if the recipient is about to decide he's not worth it. As if it's all he'll get. Eduardo hates himself for driving Jim back with a pained sound. His lip's bleeding, slugishly. Jim stares at him, with what he privately called his frightened expression. Rigidly controlled, as if Mrs. Gordon was about to descend. He thinks that's all he'll get but Jim leans foward one last time, kiss unnaturally gentle. 

"I'll keep in touch." He won't. Eduardo knows that better then anyone. "Make sure of it." His throat feels tight. He hates endings, for all of his racing towards them.

\----

He gets exactly one letter from Jim, detailing his new partner Harvey with unabashed affection. Beside it are two other pieces of news, a summons from far too high up for it to be any good and a 'to whom it may concern' letter. For the first time in a long time he remembers why he hates candles.

\----

 Jim is grinning at him, as if he's some knight in shining armour and Eduardo feels light as air. They joke, as if back on the front, at his best and maybe even Jim's. His hair is longer, expression falling into familiar grave lines when left alone with his thoughts. They're going to be cleaning house taking the burdens from his shoulders.

It feels good to have a mission, his friends' esteem, it feels dangerously close to hope. Maybe this time they'll keep in touch. Maybe this time Jim will race ahead to meet him. He thinks it's possible, as Jim watches him hit the mobster, unflinching, hard in a way the arm couldn't make stick. They could work together, without holding back, without doubt, as allies, or friends, or more.

He feels everything crumble when the bleeding man locks his eyes in Jim. When he looks at him brief and dismissive. He's always been good at showing people what they want to see. It's almost too easy to forget, that under the awkwardness and quick fuse is a man accustomed to minor manipulations... And seeing through them.

\----

Jim's running to his allies. His mouth stings. And his chest, his heart, that aches.

Jim won't be able to leave haven in his hands, not now. If he escapes he'll come after him. Eduardo... He can wait. Jim's never kept him waiting too long, after all. 


End file.
